Lent

slow fast

By Harper Lewis Published 7 months ago • Updated 7 months ago • 1 min read

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purple veils seductively strewn

over every cross in town,

like Mardi Gras did a striptease

home from Bourbon Street,

earning those beads the hard way,

dropping scraps of sin

for the self-righteous

turtlenecks

reading romance novels,

pointing pretentious fingers from their prettied-up porn,

mistaking morals for

aesthetics,

diddling about manhood

in dry dreams with dead batteries,

eating pancakes

instead of oysters,

dying without beer.

Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.

Intertextuality is my passion.

Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.

My words are mine, not a robot’s.

MA English literature, CofC

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